Accra Noir by Nana-Ama Danquah

Author:Nana-Ama Danquah [Danquah, Nana-Ama]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781617758942
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2020-11-30T21:00:00+00:00

* * *

It took an entire two days before I could sit across the table from Alan, at his house on 7th Estate Road in Kanda, not from the Hilla Limann Highway, one of the busiest thoroughfares in Accra. It was named after Dr. Hilla Limann, the president of Ghana from 1979 to 1981. His term ended as a result of a coup d’état.

It was a quiet neighborhood of medium-sized government-built-but-privately-owned homes. There was also a sprinkling of eating spots and offices, like Fali’s Hot Pot at the top of the road. I watched Alan’s lips move but I wasn’t hearing a word of what he was saying anymore. I was mesmerized by his stark teeth. His lanky frame was draped over the armchair, one long arm flung across its back. Occasionally he would run his hand over his close-cropped hair and down his face. Whenever he did this, I caught a glint of the signet ring on his little finger. It was gold, decorated with a filigree rendition of nkyinkyim, a popular adinkra symbol, whose name was shorthand for a longer proverb: Ɔbra kwan yɛ nkyinkyimii. Life’s road is twisted. It was a reminder of the flexibility and perseverance one must have to navigate the journey of life.

Alan had spent the last hour unapologetically justifying why he had not thought it necessary to tell me, his girlfriend, about his three children: first of all, he hadn’t even told his family; second, it was a mistake; third, he hadn’t felt loved by me; and the last, most annoying excuse was that he wasn’t even sure the children those women—Tracey and Akua—had had were his. At that moment I wanted to hurt him so badly; I wanted to see him in pain, the same anguish that his actions had brought into my life. I took a sip of my whiskey sour and, in a flash, it came to me: I knew exactly how I could do just that. I had read in the May issue of Marie Claire, while pounding the treadmill, about aconite, also appropriately known as women’s bane, devil’s helmet, and the queen of poisons. It caused nausea, vomiting, weakness, the inability to move, and, if consumed in large enough quantities, heart problems—also, death.

I tilted my head to one side and looked at Alan, imagining him writhing on the floor in pain begging for relief, totally dependent on me, while I wiped his feverish brow and kept him delicately balanced on that fine line between pain and death.

I took a deep breath and caught a whiff of his ever-present designer cologne—Gucci Guilty, as irony would have it—which jolted me out of my trance. With a sudden burst of energy and purpose, I reached over and grasped his hand, catching him unawares.

“It’s okay, I still love you,” I told him. “It’s a lot to take in and I will need time to process this. But you need to confirm the children are yours with a DNA test. Children are a blessing, whichever way they come into your life.

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